RPlog:A Talk in the Park
Fountain Square - Plaxton City The huge buildings in the background threaten to take over this small patch of green that is the center of Plaxton City. A stone fountain -still in place from another time- sits in the center of the square. It depicts a young woman looking into the sky. Water flares around her and bursts into a star pattern ten feet above her head. The inscription at the base of the fountain is written in the aging language of a more romantic time. 'Farewell, for all journeyers that leave this place shall always return to call it home.' Newly planted, lush trees now dominate the square, shading the area from the morning sky above is clear. Dark bushy leaves cover the branches, offering shade for the ground below. Patches of well maintained grass surround the base of the trees, allowing space for visitors to relax or picnic. The central, most famous area of Plaxton City, seems to become more and more park-like with the frequent additions and maintnence. A pair of Marines quietly watch over the area. Sitting beneath the shade of a lush, overhanging tree, Jessalyn hooks one arm over the back of the bench and glances up between the branches at the sun peeking through their dark silhouettes. Then she gives her companion a look as she drums her fingers on top of the deactivated datapad in her lap, a little nervous energy coming off of her. "I want to go surfing again," she announces out of nowhere to Orson, giving him a wide grin in anticipation of his response. Eyes closed, Orson replies quietly. "So soon? You might show me up, even more, this time." With a vague smile, those gray orbs are revealed, slowly, the man returning from what appears to be a light sleep or very deep meditation. An easy breeze filters over, rustling the trees and changing the pattern of light and dark which lies over the man and woman. Jessalyn twists her lips thoughtfully as she considers his words, dragging a fingertip over Orson's wrist. "It doesn't have to be right away," she says, suppressing a grin. "But it was fun. You'll have to take me to all the places you like to go!" This idea suddenly fascinates her, and she tugs the datapad against her chest as she goes on in a dreamy voice. "We could go everywhere! See every beach in the galaxy!" She chuckles, fully aware such frivolous behavior is not available to them, but amused at the thought nonetheless. "We can go whenever you want," Orson replies seriously, shifting his weight off of a folded-under leg and leaning to one side, planting a palm in the grass. "Calamari would be the ultimate, really. You have to get the perfect weather though, since the lack of land masses don't create all that good of a wave..." With a glance to her face, he has to smile, wearing about three days of young beard. "I have to go away, in a few days." He centers more alert attention on her, lowering his head. Her effervescent mood fades as she notes the use of "I" rather than "we." But she maintains her smile even if it doesn't quite reach her eyes now. "Oh... where are you going?" Jessalyn asks, letting her fingers wrap around Orson's wrist and biting down on her lower lip. With a reassuring pat of his free hand, Orson works his mouth, chewing on the words, formulating the best way to put them together. "Back to the base," he admits, innards tightening at the complexity of the situation. "For some big meeting. It won't be more than a day or two." There were a lot of reasons not to go, already. So profound were the changes she had effected! But the status quo has many benefits for now; maybe she'll understand. Jessalyn's mouth curves into an 'o' of understanding, but no reassuring sound comes from between her lips. She glances away, back up into the trees, hiding the expression on her face. "Oh, I see," she finally says, her jaw clenching. "You should go. I can stay here. There are some things I need to talk to Luke about, anyway." Throwing himself partially off-balance, he loops an arm around behind Jessalyn's neck and over those slim shoulders. "The consequences of our decisions," Orson says quietly, thinking of multiple things from the last month or so. "May force... the situation. If it comes to that eventually, so be it. I guess I'm putting it off." There is steel in his small voice. He leans back finally, looking at the trees and putting on a grin. "Besides, I don't want the other guys to be jealous." Giving him a sidelong look as Orson slides his arm around her shoulders, Jessalyn crosses one leg over the other and leans against him, giving a soft sigh. "I'm sure you'd be better off going without me," she says with some hesitation. "But be careful, Orson. Myrkr isn't a friendly place for a Jedi. Remember how it threw me off guard for so long?" That's a much smaller issue than that of Orson's employer, but it's the one she addresses for now, not wanting to press him into decisions he's not yet ready to make. Brushing short whiskers against her smooth cheek, Orson gives her a small kiss. "I remember," he intones. About the strange pockets and difficulties in training. And the unrelated vornskr attack, averted by Drew, Jessalyn, Toby and... "A few days won't change the way I feel," the mechanic reassures, squeezing those shoulders lightly. "What is our next step with Sargent?" Fighting off a blush that creeps on her cheeks, Jessalyn smiles and shakes her head. "Me, neither," she quips, agreeing with his sentiment before turning to the subject of Sargent, and shrugging her slender shoulders. "I got a glimpse of what was wrong with her," she begins. "But whoever affected her mind was more powerful than I am. I was afraid to try anything without talking to Luke first. It might take... both of us to undo what was done to her." She keeps her voice low, and conveys the most important part of this explanation in a non-verbal way, her green eyes steady and troubled as they meet Orson's. _Valak_. The normal movement of air shifts through the tree above, casting a shadow on Orson's face that's not too unlike a passing storm. There's more than a little doubt in him now, and he simply frowns. "Maybe Luke should handle this himself." His voice is cool, and quiet. His intent would be obvious enough, attempting some sort of shielding of Jessalyn. Her past history and interactions with the Emperor were dark affairs. "He can't do everything," Jessalyn says gently, some of her compassion for the Jedi Master taking precedence over her own hesitancy and issues with the Sith. "It'll be all right. I want to help. But I won't be surprised if there are traps waiting for us." She smiles rigidly, looking down at the open palm of her hand, her dark red hair spilling over Orson's shoulder as she leans there. "It'll be all right," she repeats, reassuring herself this time. "Sure he can," Orson blurts, choking on the last word as he tries to bite it back. He can hear the respect for the man in her voice, and was almost leaning forward, listening for traces of affection, or more, there. "Well," he explains, waving a hand in the space in front of them. "Just worry about Jessalyn too, okay? It's not been so long, has it?" That hand lifts and strokes that red hair affectionately, the mechanic referring to her own difficulty and imprisonment. Releasing a pent-up breath, Jessalyn's shoulders gradually fall. "It seems like a lifetime ago, really," she admits with a rueful smile. "Don't worry about me, too much," she insists. "I'm a lot stronger than I was back then." She's sure of that, suddenly, remembering the callow girl who had followed a Dark Lady all unknowingly to her own doom. Sometimes Jessalyn is amazed she's even still alive at all. Her hand slips down to clasp Orson's, fingers interlacing. "You do take good care of me," she says to him with an appreciative chuckle. Misunderstanding her phrasing, Orson nods solemnly, taking in a slow breath. "I will," he promises, already preparing himself for those possibilities. "Sometime you need to tell me more, about your adventures. Take me to your home, show me places that are important to you." Those things sound terribly trite as they fall out of his mouth, at least to Orson; perhaps because he's already shared far more intimate things with her. Still, it seems appropriate to know those parts of her life as well. They don't sound trite at all to Jessalyn, and a more genuine, contented smile spreads over her face. Leaning in, she rubs her nose against his, giving Orson a quick kiss. "I'd love to do that. Have you ever been to Yavin? Oh, it's so beautiful. You should see the flowers! I think the most beautiful roses grow only in that rainforest. I can't get them to really thrive anywhere else. And ... the old temples. I used to explore there for days on end, it seemed..." She chatters on for a moment about childhood memories, happy to be sharing that part of her life with Orson, and taking on that sweet, euphoric expression that dominates her face lately. Orson makes a noise, like a thoughtful little laugh that dies in his throat, the noise able to pass from this life to the next existence having lived happy. "When I return, take me there," the man asks, leaning back again on his palms and closing his eyes. It's a fine afternoon, and no trace of guilt fetters his appreciation of it, or hampers his ability to slip to a different reality. Watching him lean back and drift off as she talks, Jessalyn continues to share thoughts about her home, her voice taking on an other-worldly quality as the Force seeps into it, adding images, feelings and memories to the words she shares with Orson. The beauty of the world she was raised on; her love of flowers and running barefoot through the misty rainforest to gather armfuls of them from the Tanglewood; her tendency, manifest at eight years old, to take apart anything mechanical she could get her hands on and put it back together again so that it worked better than before -- all those things that abated the loneliness of an orphan's childhood. The afternoon passes, her voice leaving behind the more somber topics of Sithlords and galactic politics. *** Seated on a bench beneath the cooling shade of a sprawling tree where they have been most of the afternoon, Jessalyn talks in a soft voice to Orson, seemingly relaying some kind of story since she's doing all of the talking, and the man's eyes are closed as if he's drifted off to sleep. She sits with one leg tucked underneath her and one arm hooked over the back of the bench, looking up at the trees as she talks. Drew is at the other side of the square, walking slowly towards the fountain. Her hands are tucked into her pockets and her eyes move lazily between the water and the path in front of her. Eyes snapping open, Orson lifts his head, the suspended jewels from his crown set into mad swinging paths as he moves. He narrows his eyes and looks to Jessalyn, feigning a tremendous yawn. Stretched-out arms still in the air, he grins for her benefit. "All of them? That's amazing," he offers, simply to prove that he's picked up on the latest detail in her story. Nodding her dark red head as Orson revives, Jessalyn concludes with, "Well, almost all. We managed to trap the biklie before all of the fruit trees were decimated." She falls silent, then, looking around the square as she crosses one knee over the other and purses her lips. "I feel like we should be doing something besides dozing in the sun. Is this the vacation part of our trip?" Drew finally notices the pair. She hesitates (is it always going to be like that?) before she takes long strides over to Jessalyn and Orson. Once she's a few feet away from them she beams them a sunny grin. Lowering his mohair covered arms, Orson settles back into the bench a little deeper. "I'd love to see that," the man murmurs, putting his hands behind his head. "Oh, were you dozing?" he asks suddenly, teasing back. She knew he hadn't been dozing, even if the day wasn't simply perfect for it. "Oh, hullo Drew. There you are." He doesn't move much, but straightens just a little and drops his hands. Noticing Drew once Orson addresses her, Jessalyn turns her head and offers a smile to the blonde woman. It seems genuine enough, even if she is squelching some inner awkwardness. "Hi, Drew," she offers, turning on the bench so that she's facing her instead of Orson. "Have you been enjoying Caspar? This is the time of year to be here, that's for sure." "It's been nice," Drew says, as she finds an adjacent bench and sits at the edge, so that she is facing them as well as she can, while also sitting around in the sun. She leans back, smiling. "I hadn't been here in a while. What have you two been up to?" "A lot of running around," Orson says truthfully, leaning forward and adopting a slightly more official tone. It improves his enunciation, but does little for the attitude he projects, which is a happy combination of relaxed-confident. "Seeing some friends. There are a lot of Griffons around. For some reason." The mechanic gives Drew a meaningful look. Wrapping her hand around her ankle and pulling it into a more comfortable position underneath her, Jessalyn notes the look between Orson and Drew and purses her lips thoughtfully. "We went surfing the other day. Orson was teaching me how. We should go, sometime," she says, changing the subject, but sincere in the invitation. Is that something he wants to talk about? Drew returns the look steadily, but doesn't say anything. They'll talk later, she guesses. To Jessalyn she says, smiling, "Surfing?" Orson angles his shoulders, seeming perfectly content to be here. Or, perfectly content to be out surfing with two honeys. Repulsorboad lingo. "Can't beat it Drew," the man adds mildly. If nothing else, his darkening tan is evidence of some sort of change going on in the man's life. Jessa grins, giving Orson a curious look, not quite used to seeing him in this state. At least in public. "It was a lot of fun," she adds, laughing at the memory of all the attention he caused with his new, particularly acrobatic skills on the repulsorboard. Drew says definitively, grinning, "Well, then, I would like to go sometime." A shadow crosses her face, as she thinks of a few things that she should be discussing with Orson and Jessalyn instead of surfing. It seems like such a shame though, on a sunny day like this. She looks down at her feet as she crosses them at the ankle. Removing the crown from his head, Orson rubs his fingertips through his hair. "You won't regret it," Orson proclaims, placing the head covering on his lap in the same moment. "While we're all together," the man speaks, immediately thinking of Mira, who is still travelling with them. "I thought we'd chat about our plans." A Talk in the Park